For Althea
by Mysterious Magoo
Summary: 1970: Tony and Doug have returned successfully a year earlier. Now, a restless Tony takes a solo trip into the past to meet an old acquaintance. (Using elements of the unaired pilot as canon)
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Tony Newman had suggested, asked, and pleaded before General Kirk gave in. They both knew Tony's position, as a titled "advisor" was largely to keep him on the payroll as gratitude for his past work. Owed a favor, he persuaded General Kirk to authorize the trip.

Dressed in a turn of the century suit, overcoat, and cap; he entered the control room where Doug and General Kirk stood solemnly. Ann and Ray also stood by their control panels as a skeleton crew of technicians attended to the machines behind them. A lone, black leather satchel waited in the Time Tunnel.

Doug gave him a firm handshake, and a "Good luck."

"Thanks," Tony answered him.

"Do you have your radio?" Asked a concerned General Kirk.

"It's good," Tony said, opening his jacket to reveal a small walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.

Kirk nodded and shook his hand, whispering, "This is supposed to be official use, so try to come back with something of historic interest, hm?"

Tony made his goodbyes to Ann and Ray before stepping into the Time Tunnel. Taking the satchel in hand he stood and waited as the Tunnel hummed to life and after the customary thunder and lightning, sent him on his way.

"Well," Doug said breaking the silence, "let's hope it all works out."


	2. What are Icebergs Made Of?

What are Icebergs Made Of?

Tony found himself in a back alley, surrounded by busted crates, miscellaneous garbage, and a mix of smells; both foreign and familiar. He could hear the garbled sounds of shouts, bells, barking dogs, and clopping hooves. Not letting the grass grow under him, he gripped the satchel firmly and walked out of the alley, and the city of Manhattan revealed itself.

It was the spring of 1912; Taft was in the White House, Jack Johnson was the heavyweight champion of the world, and the inquest of the Titanic disaster was currently underway. Tony made his way to Fifth Avenue where sputtering automobiles were greatly outnumbering horse-drawn vehicles, women in outlandish hats filled the sidewalks, and jaywalkers took their time crossing the street. It was a strange feeling, he'd spent several years in the New York area while in college, and while the city was very different in many aspects, there was still a great deal of familiarity. A mustached policeman stood on the corner, twirling his club in the air.

"Excuse me," Tony asked politely, "Is this the right way to the Waldorf-Astoria?"

"Oh yes," he replied with a hearty Irish accent, "Just a little bit down there, on the corner, can't miss it," he said, pointing down the street with his club.

"Thank you," Tony said, tipping his hat.

Within several minutes, Tony crossed the entrance to the grandiose hotel. It was an impressive sight; sixteen stories tall, in the German Renaissance style, which incidentally, was demolished decades before he could have otherwise seen it… a sacrifice for the Empire State Building.

"Excuse me," Tony said to the desk clerk, flashing his press pass that Tic-Toc had printed for the occasion, "Which way to the inquiry?"

"In the Myrtle Room, down that way, just follow the crowd." The busied clerk answered, nonchalantly.

Pressing through the crowd of murmuring persons, he made his way into a large, crowded room. Standing up against the wall, Tony scanned the room; at a long table in the center was a man in his early fifties, who Tony identified as Senator William Alden Smith, the chairman of the investigative committee, who was questioning a uniformed man as others took notes.

"Mr. Lowe, do you know what an iceberg is composed of?"

"Ice, I suppose, sir."

The room erupted in snickers and muffled laughter, and Tony had to smirk at the questioning.

Senator Smith was visibly annoyed, but pushed on, "Have you ever heard of an iceberg being composed not only of ice, but of rock and other substances?"

"No sir, never."

"You labor under the impression that they are composed entirely of ice?"

"Absolutely, sir."

This went on a while longer until a one-hour recess was eventually ordered, and as he was ushered out with the gaggle of officials, witnesses, and reporters, locked eyes with a dainty, blonde woman coming up the hall.

"Mr. Newman!" she exclaimed, breathlessly.

"Hello, Althea," He answered quietly, smiling. "Would you like to get something to eat?"


	3. Time Marches On

Time Marches On

"I can't begin to tell you my surprise," Althea explained over a fruit salad in the hotel restaurant. "When I couldn't find you aboard the Carpathia, I had assumed you were lost." She had initially thought Tony was sick in the head on the Titanic when he warned of the oncoming disaster and his story of being a time traveler, but had reluctantly been convinced of the truth when the foreseen events unfolded, and when he slipped her his new state-of-the-art wristwatch as he led her into the lifeboat.

Tony set down his glass, "We were lucky, Doug and I were leaping to the water when we were sent to another time."

"And where did you go?" she asked, inquisitively.

Tony stalled in embarrassment and uttered, "We wound up on a spaceship to the moon."

Althea's eyebrows raised in wonder. "Honestly? The moon? Were there moon men?" She asked excitedly.

"Well, not that I could see," Tony answered, smiling. "What have you been doing?"

"Well, Mr. Newman, your Senate has requested I stay in the city for their inquest, and at the rate things are moving along, I just may be taking up a permanent residence."

He bit his lip and got to the big question, "Have you seen a specialist?"

Her eyebrows lowered, "I did. There's a matter of money involved, I've taken a temporary position at Miss Chapin's School, but the salary isn't-"

"Let me help," he said, bluntly.

She looked at him curiously, "Mr. Newman, are you my guardian angel?"

Tony looked her squarely in the eye, "I'd like to help, and you know I wouldn't do this if I didn't care."

"I know you do, and I must admit I had become taken with you as well." She paused, choosing her next words carefully, "Anthony, I'm 28 years old, penniless… I'm living with my maiden aunt, and on borrowed time at that. What could we have? Me in 1912, you in 1968-"

"1970," he corrected her, "time marches on."

"Where would we set up housekeeping, nineteen hundred and thirty-seven?"

Tony bit his lip again; he was given the opportunity to visit Althea as long as he devoted at least some time to filming the inquiry for posterity with a small camera hidden in the satchel. Somehow, within minutes, a casual lunch had quickly grown complicated.


	4. Ifs

"Ifs"

Days passed, and Tony had located and met with a successful neurosurgeon. Dutifully, if perhaps, needlessly, he continued recording the inquiry. Several witnesses, including Althea had been dismissed without being called to testify, and the proceedings in New York were coming to an end.

"Ten miles!" Althea exclaimed in disbelief, as she and Tony rode a coach back from the hotel at the end of a long day. She had not taken the revelations about the missed opportunity for rescue the Californian could have provided quietly. "If they had just been more observant, if they had answered the rockets, if the radio operator-" She stopped to catch her breath.

"That's a lot of "ifs," Tony interjected, putting his hand in hers. "If it's any consolation, there are going to be big changes; searchlights, full-time radio operators, and enough lifeboats for everyone."

Catching her breath, Althea let that sink in, providing some satisfaction. "What will happen next?"

"The British Board of Trade will investigate, put on a big show for the public… and find themselves innocent of any wrongdoing."

Althea rolled her eyes, and touched her fingers to her temple. Overtaken with sudden lightheadedness, she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Tony could only shout desperately to the driver, "Saint Vincent's! Hurry!"

Meanwhile, back in 1970, General Kirk and Ray had their eyes affixed to other happenings on the viewscreen. Doug was attending an art exhibit in 1930s Munich, and trying to negotiate a sale. As the two men observed the dickering; the sound of high heels clicking against the floor went unnoticed.

"Here are the files you requested," Ann interrupted, bringing a tall stack of cluttered folders to General Kirk. "Information on all of the Titanic's survivors, living and dead."

"Dead survivors?" Ray asked, momentarily confused.

Kirk was silent for a moment, "Everything we've done so far has proven one thing. Time is fixed… Althea Hall's destiny is somewhere in these pages."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he said, pondering. He stood introspectively for several moments, took the folders and left for his office.


	5. 9:09

9:09

Tony cursed himself for not pushing Althea into surgery sooner. Casual lunches and dinners had relaxed his perception of her condition, and one day had uneventfully turned to the next. Standing alone in one of the hospital's deathly quiet waiting rooms, he faced the window and used his much-neglected radio to contact Project Tic-Toc for assistance.

"This is Tony, come in. Over."

A crackling voice responded from the other end, "Tony? This is Ann, what's been going on?"

"Althea's had an attack, they've called for Dr. Dana, and she's being prepared for surgery."

After a prolonged silence, Ann answered, "Dana's one of top men in his field, with over thirty years experience in neurosurgery," trying to calm him.

"He's also sixty years behind the times; can you send a staff surgeon?"

"Tony…" He heard Ann take a deep breath, "you're officially there for the inquiry… none of our surgeons are on hand for a jump; and hospitals don't allow strangers to walk in and perform surgeries. I'm sorry."

With time passing concurrently in 1912 and 1970, he hesitantly asked, "Can you withdraw Althea to our medical facility?"

In the control room, Ann was beginning to sweat as she thought of the folders she'd retrieved earlier, regretting having fought the temptation to peek. "The stress of the trip would be too great in her condition. It would likely be fatal."

He lowered the small radio to his side without answering, stared out at the black city street below, and relived every moment he'd spent with Althea. She was the first person he'd met after being trapped in time, and he had convinced her to save herself and seek treatment after reconciling herself to an early demise. From the moon to the Alamo, he found himself wondering about this moment and what it would mean to Althea's future.

"Mr. Newman? My name is Sister Christine."

He turned to see a small nun well past sixty who'd been standing behind him for an undetermined amount of time.

"Yes?"

"Miss Hall's operation is underway. I… met her a few weeks ago when we treated the Titanic's survivors; she told me about her tumor. Mr. Newman, I want to prepare you…"

Tony stood numbly, his mind swimming as possible outcomes ran through his head; only picking up the odd bit of information about risk and recovery time, and that he may want to buy her a wig.

Sister Christine took notice of the distant expression on his face, "Mr. Newman, maybe you should sit down?"

Begrudgingly, he sat himself into a hard, wooden chair.

"Here," The sister said, offering him a brown bottle. "This'll help you relax, and it's a good precaution against the cold."

Tony took a swig, and coughed. He looked up at the clock on the wall; 9:09. It was going to be a long night.


	6. Better Late Than Never

The following morning, Tony was led silently into a large, stark gray ward. Unmoving, Althea looked unusually small and weak; she had grown pale, and bandages were wrapped neatly around her head. A middle-aged woman sat beside her bedside chatting to her politely as Althea listened. Seeing Tony, Althea turned and smiled frailly.

"They got it out," she said smiling weakly, with a twinkle in her eye.

Relieved, Tony knelt at her bedside, taking her hand into his own. "Thank God" was all he could muster.

The woman visiting with Althea rose and began to excuse herself. Althea introduced her to Tony, "Anthony, this is Mrs. Brown."

"Molly Brown?" Tony asked curiously.

"Call me Maggie, everybody does. We were just having a little talk about education and the state of the union." She looked Tony over and chuckled, "You should be able to look after her all right." Mrs. Brown made her goodbyes and left.

"We met the morning after," Althea explained slowly, "…She showed me how to sew clothing out of blankets for the children in their nightclothes."

He smiled and looked into her eyes, and she lovingly returned his gaze. The weight off his shoulders was eerily replaced by a knot in his stomach as he knew what would spoil the moment. "I'm going to have to go back," he whispered, bluntly. He didn't know how to sugarcoat the fact. He'd put off mentioning it until she was out of the woods, but couldn't stay indefinitely; there were too many bureaucrats to answer to.

"Will you…?"

"I don't know."

Althea looked at him in an understanding way and reached for the nightstand, pulling an object carefully wrapped in tissue paper from her handbag.

"Here," she said, gently placing it into Tony's hand. Carefully unwrapping the tissue, he found the wristwatch he'd slipped to her before putting her into the Titanic's lifeboat. "Bring this back to me."

In 1970,

Several days had passed since Tony's return, he'd unceremoniously handed over his notes and recordings about the inquiry, and had spent the ensuing time quietly at home until resuming work on Monday. Entering through the secret entrance deep in the desert, he was greeted by Doug Phillips as soon as he exited his car in the parking area. Doug had a smug, knowing expression on his face. 

"Tony, how do you feel about baseball?"

Tony looked at him, dumbfounded.

Doug motioned for him to follow him to the elevators and continued, "The statistics for a lot of the Negro League teams are incomplete. Wins, losses, hits, runs, strikeouts… The New York Lincoln Giants for example. They were formed in Nebraska and moved to New York around 1911."

They stepped into the elevator and were whisked downward. They exited and continued on down the dark corridor.

"Could you recommend anyone who'd be willing to be stationed there for a while?" Doug asked unnecessarily.

Tony was speechless, after all the rigor morale to convince the officials of the importance of the Titanic's inquiry, this was unbelievably convenient. They continued on and stepped into the briefing room. General Kirk sat alone at the head of the table and greeted them as they entered.

"Baseball?" Tony asked, unbelieving.

Kirk smiled, "The board's wanted to establish some stations in various times to collect information and assist agents in the field. Baseball is the beginning. You'd also have Tammany Hall, anarchists, World War I, the influenza epidemic, the suffrage movement, and prohibition as they come up. Considering the time you'd have to invest, we're willing to be flexible about any particulars."

Tony smiled and let out a short, surprised laugh of joy and relief. Things were finally looking up.


End file.
